


Memory: The poem

by Thegreenlanternslight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, High School, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Fall, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2183589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegreenlanternslight/pseuds/Thegreenlanternslight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has to confront something that scares the hell out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory: The poem

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a huge fic that I am working on but it stands alone as it's own story. It is my very first one. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Memory 1: The Poem

      It could be easily argued that many pleasant experiences and quite a few wonderful times have been had simply sitting on a park bench on a beautiful summer’s day. Unfortunately, on a beautiful Brooklyn afternoon in the late 1930’s eighteen year old Bucky Barnes was not having an experience that anyone would call pleasant or wonderful. 

      A few afternoons ago Bucky had received an assignment in his English class to compose a poem. Sixteen lines. Rhyming. To be read in class. The assignment was simple enough. However the reason Bucky was having such trouble was neither the construction nor the verse, he could not capture his subject well enough.

He had asked a few friends, “What did you write your poem on?” The responses were almost depressingly simple.

“Baseball, I’m hoping the Yankees lose tomorrow.”

“Jenny Lewis, the snappy red-head from down town.”

“That beautiful model-t my pop finished working on.”

“Baseball, I’m hoping the Mets lose tomorrow.”

 

     While all these things were well enough and good. Bucky was looking to do something a little more exceptional. Because the subject of Bucky Barnes’ poem was going to be a boy.

     In the same park where Bucky sat with an empty notebook and a few pencils he had met a young man by the name of Steven Rogers.

     Steve was running from the very first bully that Bucky would teach a lesson. As Bucky strolled through the park with Jenny Lewis, the snappy redhead, he saw quite possibly the tiniest of young men he had ever seen trying to lose quite possibly the largest. Seeing both the chance to impress his date and the opportunity to hit something mean, Bucky made a b-line for the larger of the pair just as he had caught up with Steve.

     You could say that Bucky had a mean swing, and you would be right, but as Steve would later point out, “Bullies just aren’t that strong.” After the altercation Bucky brought the young man to his feet and met the friend who would change his life forever. 

     “Steve Rogers, I don’t think thanks a million quite cuts it.”

     “James Barnes pal, and don’t think for a second you owe me anything.”

     The afternoon would turn into the evening far too quickly as the two started becoming friends. Jenny had trouble getting a word in edge wise as they talked about Baseball, Boxing, Cars, Class(they attended the same school it turned out), where the best joints in Brooklyn were, who made the best radio programs, and everything that mattered to them. Later that night they agreed to come around before too long to each other’s houses, and after that they had been the best of friends. That was a few years ago and even as a kid Bucky knew Steve was special.

     No matter how sickly and frail he got Bucky could always see the wonder in Steve’s eyes on a good day. It was a puppy like energy that could melt anyone who Steve was talking to and it made having a shit day really hard for Bucky.

     “Come on Buck, if I don’t see you at least try and cheer up, I swear I’ll tune you up so fast your head will spin.” Steve would say throwing on his best impression of a big man. He would even try and rough Bucky up a little in the process leading to the Bucky sometime even throwing Steve over his shoulder. The line was absolute non-sense, but it always seemed to put Bucky at ease knowing he had such a person in his corner. With the heart that Steve had he made Depression era America seem like a fine enough place to be. When he could, and sometimes when he could barely, Steve would go around to the hooverviles and harder parts of town and try to cheer up the people around or bring them scraps from the shop he started working at.

     It might seem simple enough to say that Bucky was making something out of nothing, fretting over writing a poem about his friend. The thing that had him shaking his head was what he had put down on paper when he tried to come-up with something for Steve. The first few lines alone betrayed to him things that he had never considered.

 

Lost By: James Barnes

You might think that I saved you that fateful day

You will never know that you helped me in an enormous way

To call you Pal might be enough

But to call you something else-

 

     Seeing the line made Bucky’s knees weak. What was that something else? This is Steve were talking about! In all his eighteen years, Bucky had never thought anything could surprise him. As upsetting as it was Bucky knew that he had to try and make sense of what he was feeling. So he had chosen to sit at that park bench until he could come away understanding why he had written that line.

 

It was Saturday

And that was six hours ago.

 

     As the day wore into the afternoon he realized he was far too hungry. Making sure he still had the dollar he had brought from home he walked to the nearest sandwich shop and picked out a roast beef sandwich he liked quite a bit. Sitting down at a table to eat it and listen to the Mets game he looked around at the people inside.

     Opposite him was an old man reading the paper and enjoying what looked like his 12th cup of coffee. Across the way was a young woman reading from an old copy of Twelfth Night, and at the back of the shop was a guy and a girl sitting across from each other holding hands and exchanging laughter. It was the couple that transfixed Bucky. While the other patrons and the man behind the counter paid them no attention Bucky was nearly staring.

     He had seen many couples before and had even seen his way around some of the most charming and smart girls at school but in this moment seeing a couple might just be what he needed. It occurred to him that there were a lot of things going on in that moment. Hands, and words, and smiles, and pet names that were freely flowing back and forth between the two of them. Though he didn’t mean to, Bucky was pondering each one, and with each one more vivid images came to him.

     First their position, sitting across from each other, led him to see him and Steve across from each other somewhere quite.

     Seeing their hands gave him thoughts of Steve reaching out his tiny little hand and picking up Bucky’s, taking it with as much sweetness as he could.

     Seeing them gaze at each other made him look back on all the times he had just looked at Steve in adoration. Steve would always smile when he realized Bucky was just looking at him as if to say, “I’m glad you’re here Buck.” The returned respect and deep affection Steve held for him made Bucky feel invincible.

     Hearing their pet names… well actually those made him gag a little. “Stevie” and “Buck” were far more appealing than “sugardear” or “darlingbabe.” After asking himself what on God’s green earth a “sugardear” was Bucky caught himself of in a dream land he had never expected to be in.

     It hit him like a ton of bricks. He loved that scrawny little shit. He actually l..o..v..e..d... Steven Rogers and it made him anxious in ways he could never imagine. He knew he would have to try with all his might to write something for his friend that captured the strange feeling he had. So after six hours and a sandwich, Bucky Barnes set his mind with one task, write the man he loved a poem.

     Friday

     The night before the assignment was due Bucky had trouble sleeping. He tossed and turned a lot before catching a precious few hours that saw him dream about Steve. That afternoon he sat down in his usual spot near Steve when the teacher started calling for people to go first.

For some reason he raised his hand. “Well then James, the floor is yours.”

     Crossing those few steps up to the front of the class would be one of the longest walks in his memory. As he turned on his heels and brought the paper to his eye level he began. All the while trying his best not to look at Steve, who was smiling from the back and trying to let Bucky know he was supporting him. “Uh.. This is called ‘I Wish’, by uh… me!”

 

I Wish

I wish I had money, so you didn’t worry

I wish you had time so you never had to hurry

I wish for an hour but you give me all day

I wish I had smarter things to say.

 

I wish I wasn’t in this little world

I wish I could wish for other beautiful girls

I wish that the night could give me some rest

And I wish to just get these thoughts off my chest

 

I wished for a friend and you answered that call

I wished for a partner and you gave it your all

I wish for your staying even when I’m afraid

I wish you knew you’re what makes me feel brave

 

I wish that I had a lot in my years

Yet you are the biggest reason I cry so few tears

I wish when were out I could ask you to dance

In the end I could handle falling, I just wish for one chance.

 

     “BUCKY!” the cry comes out from across the room as a beautiful young woman jumped into Bucky’s arms in front of the whole class. Bucky’s thoughtful consideration and anxiousness were VERY quickly stripped away as he recoiled from taking a young woman into his arms. “I knew you cared!”, said the young woman, her reaction almost horrific as the teacher pulled them apart.

     “That’s quite enough you two, if there is to be any young romance keep it away from my classroom!” Will all of the bewilderment he had available Bucky went back to his seat and put his paper down.

     “She’s a sweetheart ain’t she Buck? Look at you still making all the smart girls swoon. And who knew you could write like that you Jerk.” Steve slaps him on the back as he whispers this to Bucky. “Thanks.” Bucky only manages to look down at the notes he has on the page, as he resolves to burn the poem he sees what he remembered was going to be the very last line.

For you Stevie


End file.
